Backing away, James shook his head side to side. He lowered his rifle. “That didn’t sound like… like any weapon… anything I know.”
“Maybe a plane crash?” Jacob suggested.
“No,” Rogers said. “Don’t be stupid, you know what that was. They’re under attack.”
Waving for the others to follow, he moved back down the hill away from the smoke before stopping at the bunker door.
“They had a light garrison in that village, just enough to keep the Deltas away.” Rogers lifted the plastic cover and keyed in the door’s code. He moved his hand to the latch and pushed down, releasing the lock. The door swung out with a screech of metal on metal.
Jacob descended the hill and looked into the cavern. Shaped like the back of a semi-truck trailer, the space was no more than twelve feet wide but led into the rock farther than Jacob could see.
“Whatever just happened down there, that wasn’t Deltas,” James said.
Green weapons racks lined the walls and were filled with all sorts of small arms. Deeper in the corridor, beyond the racks, sat stacked cardboard boxes, lockers, and wooden crates painted in olive drab. Rogers hit a switch on the wall and paused as lights slowly flickered to life down the length of the bunker’s ceiling. The farthest light revealed a small workstation on the back wall. Rogers didn’t wait for the others and stomped directly to it. He tugged at a metal lock box and removed a ring filled with keys.
Rogers’ normally calm demeanor was gone, and he now moved with a rigid purpose. He spun around and put the key to a lock on the nearest crate. He flipped open the lid and reached inside, removing a three-foot-long green cylinder. Rogers passed the first to Jacob then took a second in his hand before walking to the weapons racks. “What do you think, James? The M82?”
James moved in behind them and shrugged. “Yeah, that ought to do it.”
“Wait,” Jacob said. “What the hell is going on?”
Rogers ignored the question and opened a long, metal box, removing a large canvas bag. He turned and pointed at James. “Make sure it’s good to go, no time to waste.” The big man then turned back to Jacob and snatched the tube from his hands. He pulled at the side and adjusted the shoulder strap before handing it back. “This is an anti-tank rocket, AT4. Make sure you hold on to it.”
Jacob put his hands up, refusing the rocket. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”
“We’re going down to the village; we need to take a look.”
Jacob shook his head. “With all of this,” he said, pointing to the rocket. “Looks like more than taking a look.”
“I’m not going to lie to you, Jacob. If we get the opportunity, I’ll kill whatever made that sound.”
“Shouldn’t we go back and warn the others first? Why not just leave?”
“I’ll call on the field phone and let them know we won’t be home for dinner. As of now though, what would we warn them about? We don’t know what’s going on.” He paused and shook his head, looking down at the ground before turning back. “I know running seems like the smart bet, but… Hell, just strap this to your pack; we’re not leaving without answers,” Rogers said, pushing the rocket into Jacob’s chest. He then moved to the rear of the bunker, where he grabbed a green telephone handset from a cradle.
Jacob held the rocket loosely in front of him, watching as James lifted the heavy canvas bag to his back and adjusted shoulder straps, Duke waiting patiently at his heels. “Let’s go,” he said, winking at Jacob as he moved away and exited the space.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Dropping down the sloping walls of the valley, the acrid odor of the smoke grew stronger. The sun fell into the clouds, and the temperatures dropped. Rogers moved them cautiously, avoiding open spaces, leading them through thick grass, and copses of tall trees. The terrain became marshy and sponge-like. Even in the cold air, Jacob felt himself sweating, the pools of moisture forming at the back of his neck and running down his back beneath the small pack he was covered by.
The ground was wet here; he felt it squish under his boots with every step. Jacob took a short leap over standing water and felt his boot sink into the mud. He pulled it out, fighting the suction, and whispered, “Isn’t there a better route?”
James looked back at him and grinned. “This is good; it’ll make it hard for vehicles to maneuver against us.”
“What vehicles?”
Rogers shot up a flat hand and crouched low in the grass. He looked back at the other two with wide eyes and put a finger to his ear. Duke’s ears were pointed, the dog’s lip quivering, letting the others know that he’d heard it too.
A low vibration, subtle like a subwoofer lying face down in shag carpet, was just enough to be picked up if they held their breath. Jacob found his own spot in the grass and dropped low, holding his rifle to his chest. He sat listening, feeling the moisture from the ground seep into his clothing. The rumble grew louder. Duke’s posture became rigid, causing James to instinctively put an arm out for the dog and pull him close.
“Vehicles?” Jacob said.
“No, can’t be. They’d get bogged down in the mud here,” James whispered back.
With the thumping sound, the grass began to sway, slightly at first, then faster and more rhythmically. Rogers gazed back again, his eyes wide. He pointed two fingers at himself, and then stuck an index finger to the center of the valley, away from them on the opposite side just before the ground sloped up. Jacob pivoted then rose up on his knees to see. The rumble tickled at his ear drums, the vibration making the hair on the back of his neck buzz. Straining against the fading light, he saw them.
A column of… he
